


Charmed

by lyndysambora



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyndysambora/pseuds/lyndysambora
Summary: The hair is going to do him in. He knows it.





	Charmed

The hair is going to do him in. He knows it. 

Richie's mind takes in little bits of Jon, piecemeal, though he is unsure how he can even focus on anything right at this moment. Well, anything but the obvious. 

Jon neglected to take off the hat, the omnipresent black cowboy hat still shoved onto his head, pushing his long bangs down so far into his face they reach his mouth, his eyes left to peer through openings between the strands. As it happens, though, Jon's eyes are closed. Squeezed shut, his eyebrows scrunched like the rest of his face, in extreme concentration, as he wriggles on top of Richie, trying to find just the perfect angle to get the job done. 

A lightning bolt of pleasure snaps through Richie's pelvis, and he closes his own eyes for a moment, counts to ten, thinks of baseball, before turning his attention to Jon's shirt. Jon has worn it a million times, and it's thin from overuse, its tattered V of a collar revealing just a bit of the soft hair beneath it. One of the sleeves is pushed up, Richie doesn't know why and doesn't really care, yet he focuses on it with all his might.

Next time, he decides, he'll be doubling up on the condoms. As it is, he's not going to last. 

Jon seems to find a rhythm that works for him, rocks forward and back just a little bit, not even really _rocking,_ but sort of _undulating,_ rippling like a fucking snake charmed up out of basket. 

How many home runs did Joe Dimaggio have? Babe Ruth? Why did Jon leave his socks on?

As usual, Richie is holding as still as he can, his ass planted on the bed, allowing Jon to find the just-right movement that works for him, but with his ass planted in place, Richie is all-too aware of Jon's toes, still in their socks, turned inward and tucked up under Richie's hips. For leverage? To keep warm? Who the fuck cares? Richie decides he'll be tripling the condoms next time, and breathes deeply. 

Jon has started whimpering in that way he does, when he's close; a strand of his hair clinging to his damp and parted lips. The hair is going to do Richie in. 

“I love you,” he blurts, without thought. He's never said it before, neither of them has. 

Jon's eyes snap open, wide behind the veil of hair, for just a moment before his head drops back a bit, and he cries out quietly as his body tenses in climax. As usual, as soon as it passes, he starts to bounce, and Richie thrusts his hips, and it takes only a few seconds for Richie to come, too. 

Still panting, Jon looks at Richie, his cheeks pink behind his bangs. He smiles. “Don't worry, I won't hold you to it,” he says. 

Richie reaches up and brushes the hair out of the other man’s face. “You won't have to,” he says.

Jon snorts, but his grin widens.

**END**


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